by K Schultz
Laakea jammed his hat on and rushed back outside in his shirtsleeves. Aelfric, ax and lantern in hand, joined him before he reached the sheepfold. Shadowy gray shapes leaped the fence and streaked into the shrubbery. Five sets of yellow eyes gleamed from the edge of the forest.
Blossom, a ewe Laakea had bottle-fed when its mother rejected it, lay bleating in pain with its flanks torn. Blood oozed from red slashes at its hocks, and the ewe left bloody smears in the snow as it clawed at the snow-covered earth with its front hooves.
“Wolves,” Aelfric said. “It’s hamstrung. We can’t save her, but we scared them off before they dragged her away.”
The wolves, reluctant to abandon their prey, circled at the edge of the light like gray shadows, their eyes glowing a malevolent yellow in the lanterns’ light. Aelfric pulled a knife from his belt, slit the ewe’s throat, and finished the job the wolves had begun. Blood melted a steaming crimson hole in the snow. Once the sheep stopped twitching and lay motionless, Aelfric washed the blood off his hands and knife with snow.
“Stay here and guard the carcass while I chase the wolves away.” Aelfric jumped the fence and dashed toward the glowing eyes. He brandished the ax while he shouted an impressive string of curses. The eyes blinked out and appeared again closer to Laakea. He heard his father crash through the brush in the distant darkness, but the wolves slipped between Aelfric and Laakea, determined to have their prey.
“They’re behind you, Father, and they’re circling the pen.” Laakea’s voice quivered. He lifted his lantern overhead so he could see better. He reached for the knife on his belt, but his fingers, numb from the cold, fumbled with the handle. When he finally withdrew it, his hand shook so hard he could barely keep his grip. Two of the wolves, lips curled, sharp fangs exposed, snarled at him from outside the fence. Laakea tried to move, but none of his muscles obeyed him.
“Don’t stand there like a gutless coward.” Aelfric’s hand on his shoulder and his booming voice made Laakea jump and freed him from his paralysis. “Make noise. Be aggressive. I trained you better than this. Show those furry bastards you have a spine, boy.”
Roused by his father’s words, Laakea brandished his knife and charged toward the wolves lurking beyond the fence. Once the wolves realized neither Laakea nor Aelfric would allow them an easy meal, they slunk back into the darkness.
After the wolves were gone, Aelfric slapped Laakea on the back. “That’s more like it. Remember this lesson. Stand up for yourself, or no one else will.”
Laakea leaned over the sheepfold fence and vomited while his father gutted and dressed the little ewe. Laakea had eaten mutton before, but Blossom wasn’t mutton to him. She followed him like a faithful companion and seemed to sense his moods. No matter how horrible his day had been, Blossom was always there to nuzzle him with her wet black nose and rub her woolly sides against his leg. That bit of comfort would no longer brighten the dark days ahead. There was fresh mutton for the next tenday, but Laakea could not eat it.
The wolves lingered nearby. Laakea would always carry a bow along with his lantern whenever he fed the flock in the evening because he saw their eyes glimmering at the forest’s edge.
Friendship
The red-gold light of sunset faded into violet and blue as Rehaak and Isil plodded through the gathering darkness into the clearing at the abandoned farmstead. A cabin, bathed in shadows, sat in an area cleared of trees but teeming with long grass and tall weeds. A lean-to shed for firewood storage attached to the cabin looked sturdy, but a smaller building nearby sagged under the weight of moss and debris on its roof.
The one-room cabin, made of daub and wattle between posts and beams, stood in the center of the clearing. Its roof thatch looked sound, but its door lay in the weeds nearby. In the deepening gloom, a single window took the appearance of a dark hole in the wall.
Since Isil knew the way to the stream, she unhitched the mithun and took them to the water. Rehaak wanted to light a fire before darkness fell, so he scrounged dry wood from inside the shed. Rehaak understood why this excellent little place stood abandoned. Often people hesitated to stay in buildings where misfortune had fallen. They feared a similar fate awaited them if they lingered there, especially in cases of fatal diseases. When Rehaak expressed his concerns, Isil explained she had stopped here many times and suffered no ill effects. Isil was confident no contagion lingered in the building.
By the time Rehaak entered the house, deep shadows had cloaked the interior. There were several objects, unidentifiable in the near darkness, scattered across the earthen floor. The building’s interior stank of rats. I hate rats. Filthy vermin. Rats are probably what brought the disease that killed the owners of this house.
Rehaak picked his way to the fireplace, fearful of catching an infection from the earth beneath his feet or anything else he touched. Rats might still lurk in the building. After ensuring no rats stalked him, he set the wood on the stone hearth and struck a light with flint and steel.
Once the fire blazed in the hearth and no rats had pounced on him from the shadows, he rescued the front door from the weeds. Broken hinges prevented him from rehanging it, so he leaned it against one doorpost to cover the doorway and keep the heat contained. Rehaak covered the window opening with a spare tarp taken from the wagon and stepped back to admire his handiwork.
Firelight revealed the nature of the objects scattered about the room. A table and a bench lay tipped against one wall, and remnants of a broken bed littered the floor. Rehaak and Isil would sleep on the hard-packed earthen floor tonight, but it was better than being outdoors. Outside they would be at the mercy of the elements, a banquet for bugs, and vulnerable to attack by dastardly rodents.
Bread and cheese were a meager supper, but the roof and walls provided abundant warmth and limited protection. Rehaak counted his blessings while listening for squeaks and scratching noises that could signal an imminent invasion by disgusting disease-riddled rats.
Isil noticed his tension and asked, “What’s the matter with you? You looks like you’re ‘bout to jump out o’ your skin. Are you expectin’ another ambush?”
“As a matter of fact, I am,” Rehaak said. “Can’t you smell the rats? They sneak around in the shadows, jump on you, and infect you with horrible diseases.”
“Rats?” Isil roared with laughter. “Rats is what you’re afeared of? We fought four men earlier today, and tonight you’re afeared o’ rats. Don’t worry. I’ll save you from those mean ol’ rats,” Isil said, laughing, holding her sides, and gasping for breath.
“It’s not funny,” Rehaak said. He pouted and glared at Isil until her laughter subsided. Once Isil regained her composure, she packed away the leftovers from their meal and sat staring into the flames in the hearth. Although the floor and walls remained chilly and musty like damp earth outside, the fire had warmed the interior. Once Rehaak forgot his irritation, he asked Isil, “Is it true your family lived out here in the east?”
“Yup. My Ma, my Pa, and my Granthers raised mithun like the ones what pulls my wagon. We lived up north, near Lake Tir. The old’uns has passed on, so I has no kin left.”
Rehaak noticed Isil looked down when mentioning her forebears, and he sensed shame in her. I wonder how they died and why she feels responsible. “And all your folk believed in the Creator, did they?”
“My great-great granthers left the city — I reckon it’d be six or eight generations back. I suspect there weren’t no other gods bein worshiped back then, or maybe there was and my folks got chased east by them what worships the new gods. It were long before the Eniila chased our people outta Baradon anyhow.
“It must have been lonely living all alone in the middle of nowhere?”
“Nope, we had neighbors within two days walk from us, so we weren’t the only ones out there. All the folks what lived nearby kept mostly to themselves ‘cept for a barn raisin or feast days. We never had much truck with city folks though.”
“So, did your neighbors share your family�
�s beliefs.”
“We didn’t know no better.” Isil held out her arms, palm up and bit her lower lip, gestures that illustrated regretful acceptance of her ignorance.
So, belief in the Creator was common among Isil’s forbears and their neighbors. Both time and the vagaries of Abrhaani religion passed by without touching their lives. Their seclusion and their attitudes had sheltered them from the shift in religious belief on Khel Braah.
As Rehaak listened, he wondered again how the change in belief systems occurred. Was the shift to pantheism a natural progression, or did a person or group engineer it? If it was a conspiracy, who were the conspirators? What could anyone gain from the changes? The Nethera were the only beneficiaries of the shift in belief, but why would men agree to this change or embrace it? Once again, I have more questions than answers.
Although Rehaak had learned much about Isil’s family, their customs and their traditions from the conversation, the Aetheriad’s location remained a mystery. Despite years of frustration and failure, Rehaak could not shake his compulsion to find it. Rehaak sensed the Aetheriad meant more than mere proof that the Creator was real. He suspected it held secrets essential to mankind’s survival. The Abrhaani people needed every scrap of knowledge to survive the onslaught of the Dark Ones once they arose in their full power.
Through the course of the evening’s conversation, Rehaak learned Isil was neither coarse nor unintelligent. Isil had a sharp wit and a gentle disposition hidden under her rough exterior. To his surprise, he found that he relished her company and found himself at peace. It was ironic he felt tranquil in a house that had held tragedy for its former occupants. Was it the location or the company? He had no way of knowing with certainty, but Isil’s smile no longer held any terror for him. Rats, however, still scared him stupid.
Despite her homespun exterior and speech, Isil had great wisdom and none of the doubts about the Faithful One that plagued Rehaak. He supposed generations of forbears believing like they did and teaching her to do the same had that effect. In contrast to Isil’s multi-generational history of faith, Rehaak had gained his beliefs on his own. He had no heritage of faith. Rehaak’s skeptical nature, questioning, looking for evidence of things she trusted as truth without proof could prove to be a character defect, or a profound strength. He was not sure which, but he was incapable of blind faith.
Isil shared stories of her life as a drover. Rehaak reciprocated with outrageous stories. His jokes made her roar with laughter until, holding her sides in pain, she begged him to stop.
Isil’s gravelly voice was unpleasant, but her laughter pared away the crusty exterior and years of hard living. When she laughed, Rehaak caught glimpses of a younger, less careworn version of Isil.
When they ran out of stories, they sat on the bench in front of the fire, staring at the flames in comfortable silence, alone but together. Isil and Rehaak unrolled their bedrolls in front of the fire and drifted off when they could no longer resist sleep. His final thought was that in his exile, Rehaak had found fellowship.
New Home
Rehaak rose early and stepped outside to see the sunlit world stretching and yawning, taking its first breath of the day. Deepening twilight on the previous evening prevented Rehaak from viewing the clearing, but now he stood enraptured by what he saw and felt. The world appeared fresh and new as the rising sun painted Aarda’s eastern sky with pale yellow light.
The cabin sat in a clearing, large enough to support a sizable farm. Someone had found this clearing and took advantage of its natural wonder. The buildings were the sole human intrusion into the primeval landscape. Huge trees hemmed it in like great green sentinels guarding the sleeping glade and spoke to Rehaak in the language of his heart. Rehaak understood things here he never comprehended elsewhere.
In his revelation, the trees became tall old men, ageless and ancient, with moss and lichens draping their trunks and branches like tattered garments. The trees guarded their clearing with a persistence impossible for lesser beings. They stood silent watch, undisturbed for longer than men walked upon Aarda, and would continue their vigil long after the last man’s bones became dust. The clearing’s sacred guardians, in their verdant coats of moss and lichens, resisted time.
The day was moist, green, and full of life, smelling of both decay and growth. Decay fed the giant trees and nourished the ferns, mosses, and other lesser children of the forest floor. Light shone through the foliage, lending a green glow to everything. The air was resonant with the sheer ecstasy of creation, a place of magical wonder with abundant, diverse life. Each breath gave life to anything scuffling through the leaves and blossoms.
The clearing was a large and lovely tributary in a rushing river of life, the antithesis of his prophecy of destruction. A divine charisma summoned and captured him. Energy engulfed Rehaak while he waded in its flow. He sensed its vitality and vigor in his bones and wept tears of joy because of its splendor.
This part of the forest subdued sound as if commanding reverential awe. Rehaak’s many questions fell away; he knew he wanted to stay. He needed to stay, despite his calling to save Aarda. Rehaak decided between heartbeats that this was the haven he sought. Once he decided, irresistible peace enveloped him, and he danced through the clearing, drunk, with joy pulsing like a second heartbeat in his chest. Rehaak would have stripped off his clothes and danced naked among the sunbeams, except for the chance Isil might arise and discover him.
Any other day Rehaak might have regretted his time alone with the forest, but the intoxicating joy prevented guilt. Smoke coming from the chimney signaled that Isil had prepared breakfast, so he ended his revelries. He had wanted to cook for her this morning. Rehaak considered himself an accomplished cook, but it was too late for that now. By the time he entered the cabin, Isil had made porridge for their breakfast.
“Good morning,” he said with a hangdog expression.
“Did you have a wonderful time cavortin’ among the posies?” Isil asked with a wry grin.
“Yes, it was pleasant. Did you say that no one has laid claim to this building.”
“That’s right. I ‘spect folks be afeared o’ catchin’ what kilt the last batch that lived here. Never worried about it myself. Figured everyone’s gotta go sometime. Nothin’ in particular holdin’ me to this life anyway.”
“Well then, meet the new owner,” he smiled. “Unless you want to claim it.”
“You’re not afeard o’ the rats then?” she needled, then relented as Rehaak peered around the cabin, checking for the vermin. “Naw, go ahead. I ain’t much for settlin’. I’d take it as an honor if you lets me stay once in a while when I comes by with my freight wagon. It’s nice to have a friend.”
“Yes. Consider it done. You shall have free room and board at Rehaak’s house.” Rehaak’s house. It has a nice sound to it. “Oh, Isil, is there anything I must do to register or formalize my claim?”
“I’ll tell the mayor in New Hope that you’re claimin’ this place for yourself,” Isil said. “I will witness your claim for you today, but you needs to go to New Hope soon and present your claim to him. That’s all that needs doin’ to make it official.”
Isil and Rehaak shared another meal and more conversation. Despite his newfound joy and the measure of trust Isil engendered, Rehaak withheld the facts of his exile on the grounds of heresy and his prophecy of impending doom. I’ll tell her later, once we know each other better. When they finished eating, they hitched the mithun to the wagon and Isil departed, leaving Rehaak behind to begin his new life.
Rehaak gathered firewood for the evening and wandered the clearing, salvaging what he found to make the cabin both habitable and comfortable. He rescued the pieces of the bed littering the floor of the cabin, reassembled it, and tossed the mattress on top of it. Although it smelled musty, it promised a more comfortable night than sleeping on the floor.
When he completed rebuilding the bed, he struggled to rehang the door, since a house needed a real door. While exploring the
clearing, Rehaak found plenty of bed-straw growing near the dwelling. He gathered armfuls of the sweet-smelling herb and brought it inside to dry. Once it dried, he planned to restuff the mattress ticking and sleep in relative luxury.
When Rehaak left Narragan, he had wanted a new life. Rehaak’s god granted his wish, and life’s possibilities excited him once more. Perhaps the apocalypse would bypass this protected glade, or maybe he could find redemption some other way.
New Life
Rehaak had thrown himself into his new life with passion, and he had grown strong and healthy from hours of manual labor, but the excitement and enthusiasm vanished after long months of hard work. Once he had made the cabin livable, boredom settled over him like a blanket. Summer flowers faded and went to seed as the days grew shorter. Red and gold leaves painted the forest around Rehaak’s cabin and brightened the roadside to town.
On his first trips to New Hope, Rehaak used gold when he bought food, supplies, and tools. Now he avoided spending his gold. Many people survived in New Hope, but few flourished, and envy often brought out the worst in people. Throughout the summer, Rehaak had created distillations and tinctures made from the medicinal herbs growing around his house. Nowadays, his gold stayed hidden at home, buried under the woodshed. His pack, full of remedies and potions, would buy vegetables, flour, and other provisions once he reached New Hope.
The tannery’s stench hit him before he rounded the last bend. He hurried past the tannery with its pong of rotten flesh, urine, and dung. He held his breath as long as possible while he strode past the soaking vats. Farther along River Road vegetable gardens and other crofts lined the sloped bank of the Wildwood River to his right. Clapboard houses with thatched roofs lined the other side of the road. Once he passed the communal storehouse, he turned left into the market square and picked an empty booth to set up shop.